On this part of the Alaska Highway there’s not much to fix the eye upon, just acres of bogs and tussocks, tussocks and bogs. The radio does not come in. Bill fusses with my 2003 edition of The Milepost and tries to calculate how far we are from Whitehorse. As usual, his math is way off. We are covering distances usually associated with air travel. A prolonged sunset leaks over the scrubby hills somewhere north of the 60^th parallel. Bill tries again—unsuccessfully—for cell service.

We stop on the roadside to let my dogs stretch their legs and to make coffee. A withering assault of mosquitoes and biting gnats forces us to scrub the operation, but not before the French press yields two cups of watery joe. The night thickens. We pull into villages and defunct RV parks that had received high marks in the outdated Milepost. Weeds spring up in cracked asphalt. Windows are smashed out. Bankruptcy and high fuel prices ended most of these communities’ endeavors in tourism. Snag Junction, a tiny gas station town, is a no go. At the abandoned RV community of Burrwash Landing, gnawing insects descend upon us. I thought we’d pose for a photo with Kluane Lake in the background. I thought a picture of the eerie gloom might be worth the stop. It wasn’t…

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